Good things...

Little Flirt, our whimsical toy poodle, had a hernia.  Today she had it surgically repaired. I hated leaving her at the veterinarians office, even though I knew she would receive excellent care. She looked at me hard as the good doctor was carrying her away.  I fretted all morning. I love that little dog, and can't imagine life without her in it.

 It was errand day. I saw my dentist and had my teeth cleaned, I went to a store, I had my hair trimmed. Then I met my friend for lunch and told her, "I am rudely bringing my phone in, and will answer it if the vet calls."  Luckily I have the kind of friends that understand, and in fact, wouldn't have it any other way.  He did call, and assured me that Flirt was fine, and I could pick her up at 4:00.  Her hernia had been repaired.

I came home and checked all the animals.  The pigs were hot, so I filled their wallow and hosed them down. They liked it.  I was hot, too, and decided it was a good day for a swim.  And here is where I get to tell you about something wonderful.  Last week I wanted to go swimming and I wanted Bravo to come with me. Flirt does not enjoy such things, so I left her home. It was a hot day, and we went to the little boat launch at the pond across from us.  There were several people there, and one family had a couple of big, snarling, dogs, tied up. The walkway down to the water is narrow, the sand beach small,  and I didn't want to go down there with Bravo, so we aborted the plan and went home and sulked. I wished and wished that I had somewhere I could go that was a bit secluded. A place where I would not bother anyone with my dog, and where we could have a little solitude.  And here is where the magic happens. The very next day I received a message from a sweet customer/friend that said, "I have an old tumbling down camp where there are kayaks and great swimming.  Not sure you all have a place to go but it would be close to your house. You are welcome to bring Bravo. You can go any time."  Then she sent the address and directions. It was as if she read my mind. As if the universe whispered my fondest wish to her and she generously decided to share her little slice of heaven with me. So today I went. Her directions were perfect.  Down a long country road, then down a dirt road, turn right down an overgrown driveway.  I put a long leash on Bravo in case he decided to go on walk about, but he behaved perfectly.  There was a lovely picnic table, a few chairs, and some stone steps down to the dock.  Little waves lapped on the rocks. There was not another soul in sight.  In about 1 minute I was ankle deep in the cool, clear water.  Bravo was confused, but once I was out paddling in water up to my chin, he got brave and swam out to be with me. Then back to shore, then back to me, repeat.  I climbed out and found a stout stick.  A rowdy game of water fetch ensued.  There was much joy. What a gift we have been offered. I can hardly wait to go again. I am so grateful.

And while I am appreciating people, look at this sweet image.

They have been haying the field across the street.  One little lily had been blooming, and I had been enjoying seeing it there. I knew the tractor would take it down. When I got home today I saw that whole field was mowed, but the little ditch lily had been spared. The man who mowed had neatly trimmed all around the plant, and left it there to bloom some more.  One more reason to smile.

Flirt is home and heavily medicated, sleeping in her favorite spot. Bravo, still a bit damp, is snuggled up to me, tired and happy. And for the millionth time I reflect on how magical life can be.

Oh, well...

Here in the country, most people rely on wells for their water.  The well at our house was here long before we moved in, and has served us flawlessly. A few months back the pressure tank needed to be replaced, and the plumber told me he thought our well pump was on it's way out.  A few weeks back our water pressure, (never all that great) got worse, and Chris went down in the basement to see what he could see.  The pressure tank was running non stop, trying to give us enough water, but clearly, the pump was not doing it's job.  Normally this would be an expensive but fairly simple fix, especially in the summer (we were glad it was not January, with feet of snow and ice outside!)  The plumbers came on a Monday a few weeks ago. The plan was to pull the pump up from the bottom of the well, and replace it with a nice, new one.  I had to go to an appointment, and when I came back I was surprised to see the plumbers truck still here.  I went out to see Chris and three plumbers, all standing around the well, scratching their heads. The mood was grim.  It turns out that due to some seismic shift, the pump was stuck fast.  They had been able to pull up up about 15 feet from the bottom, and there it stayed. It could not be moved up or down.  "What do we do to fix it?" Chris asked. "You need a new well," was the unwelcome reply. They were kind enough to rig up a long pipe that ran from the well, across the pasture and into the basement. The old, tired pump kept on working (thank heavens) and we had water. But it was a little stressful, knowing things could all go south at any moment.

 The plumber recommended someone to come out and take a look.  A few days later a well digger came, and agreed, there was nothing to be done except dig a new (expensive!) well.  It seemed an awful shame, but we had little choice.  We do enjoy having running water, after all. 

The next week, we locked all the stock up and opened the pasture gate. Two huge trucks came in.
One was the well digging rig.

The piglets were astonished by these new developments, so close to their paddock, and ran and grunted and ran some more, until they got tired and took a nap in the shade. Every once in a while they would come and stare at the ruckus, looking incredulous. I had to turn off the electric fences while all this was going on, and I was constantly on edge, worried the pigs would make a run for it and never be seen again.

The donkey and goats, locked in their little room, stared out with great interest. 

All day long, the digger rumbled and banged, going through the ledge one slow foot at a time.

 Since they charge by the foot, I was rooting for water at 50, but my wishes went unfulfilled. I took chocolate chip cookies out to the crew.  It was so loud we couldn't really talk, but with some yelling and gestures, I found out they were down nearly 200 feet and had water, but not enough.  Then they had an equipment problem and left for the weekend.  The huge digger stayed behind, startling me with its looming bulk each time I glanced out to the pasture.  They also left chip wrappers, cigarette butts and empty soda bottles in their wake. I was not amused. 

They were supposed to be here before 8 on Monday, but showed up mid-day, and dug some more.  At 240 feet they had 6 gallons of water a minute.  Satisfied, they packed up their machines and left. The plumber was supposed to come the next day to put in a new pump and switch us over.  He called late in the day, "I'm in kind of a mess. Can you wait until Monday?"  Since the old well pump was mercifully plugging along, I agreed.  I don't groom dogs here on most Monday's, and it would easier to do without water while they fixed things.  Except, I forgot that I actually was grooming that day, since I had planned to take the 4th off for Independence Day.  

Monday morning, at 7:30 sharp, the plumbers arrived, bringing a backhoe and a van into the pasture. By this point I'd given up locking the hoof stock up. They were bored by the whole thing and pretty much ignored the work crews.  Except Abraham, who supervised rather closely. And made friends.

I had a dog in the tub when they told me it was time to shut the water off. I begged for a 10 minutes delay, and was able to get him washed and rinsed in the nick of time. 

They dug a deep trench to bury the pipes below the frost line, and then hooked the new pump up to the new well. The plumbers left, the backhoe guy went back to work. 

He did quite a nice job burying all the rock dust from the well diggers, and smoothing things out. Until he hit the brand new well with his machine and smashed the top, damaging the head of the well, too.  "I'll have that taken care of," he said.  I'm still waiting. 

Meanwhile, the next step of the process was rather alarming.  We were instructed to go buy a gallon of Clorox bleach, and DUMP IT INTO THE WELL.  Now, if anything seems more counter-intuitive than dumping bleach into your drinking water, I'm not quite sure what it might be.  But we followed their instructions.  Then we were to run the garden hose into the well, until we could smell the bleach in the water. This took a long, long time.  Next, we were to let the bleach sit 24 hours, then run the hose until the bleach smell was gone.  This, too, took a long, long time.  It felt like a sin to waste all that precious water, too.  

Now we have two wells. One working, one not.  Our water is clear and the pressure is a bit better.  And hopefully we will never have to go through this again.  Because it was not a lot of fun. But I keep reminding myself how lucky we are to have clean, fresh water and Chris keeps cheerfully reminding me that at our age, this well and pump should long outlive us!. 

Demands...

The tree swallows have hatched a clutch of eggs in the house in the back yard.  We can hear them chirping, endlessly, while the parent birds fly in and out. They carry droppings from the chicks away, and bring back bugs. This morning, for the first time, I could see shadows of the chicks hopping around behind the little entryway.

At first there was a little yellow beak braced on the bottom edge.

Then it managed to get a toe hold on the door and poke its whole little head out.

When it saw a parent coming, that little bill flew open and filled the air with loud demands.

It was not dissapointed.  Papa bird zoomed in with a tempting morsel.

Again and again.

I think there are three or four chicks in the nest, and the adults work from first light until last to keep those mouths fed.  In a day or two the chicks will leave the confines of their cozy home and fill the sky with their aerodynamic feats.  Chris calls them, "little happy birds," because they look so joyful as they flit through the sky above FairWinds. We are so glad they are here.

Dressing up my dresser...

Many years ago in Memphis, I saw a wooden bureau at someones curb. This was the sign, there, that the object was up for grabs. Grab it I did, wrestling it into the back of my mini van, feeling like a thief, but delighted with my treasure.  It was nothing fancy, but had a pleasing shape, was a nice, solid wooden piece, and offered a small footprint. Since the rooms in our house were small, this suited me.  It was painted Big Bird yellow, and had little rubber ducky drawer pulls. Clearly it had once held some precious baby clothes.  I intended for it hold clothes for my baby, as well.  I painted it on a drop cloth in the middle of the living room floor. Sponge paint was all the rage, and I painted it white with blue sponge paint. I replaced the knobs with plain wooden ones. I always thought I'd upgrade one day, but the piece has stayed with me, moving from room to room, home to home. It became my dresser at some point.  Recently I gave our bedroom a freshen up... new paint, new summer bed spread, a little rearranging.  I moved the bureau to the guest room, and put a different one in our room for me.  After a week I moved it back, I missed it.  But I had to admit it looked much more shabby than it did chic.  So I got to thinking about how to freshen things up a bit.

I bought some chalk paint, known for excellent coverage, an attractive matte finish, and ease of application.  Then I went on the hunt for some new drawer pulls.  I planned on clear glass pulls, I've used them in other projects and like them very much. I was at the store with 8 glass knobs in my hands, when something caught my eye.  I pondered for only a moment, then put the clear ones back and came home with these beauties.

 One afternoon, between finishing grooming and starting farm chores, I zipped up stairs and slapped a fresh coat of paint on my old friend. Here is how she looked before, chipped and grubby, with little hand painted flowers I'd put there 20 years or so before.

I hadn't realized just how sad it looked until I began working on it.  It's one of those things that I used every day, but never paid much attention to.

I opened the new paint, with the multi tool Chris gave me, bearing my name on one side, and the words, "World's Best Wife" on the other.  And then I started to paint it on. True to what I'd heard, the paint covered a multitude of sins in no time flat. In true Waters woman fashion, I managed to splatter it well past the old towel I was using as a drop cloth, and had to spend long minutes wiping up my floor. Sigh.

In no time, the grimy, chipped finish was hidden. I could hardly wait to but the knobs on. 

The end result was pleasing to me. But I had more up my sleeve.  The next day an artist customer brought her two dogs here, and while we groomed she took her paints up stairs and added her two cents to the face lift.

And that was the frosting on the cake.

I need to find some other things to decorate the top, but you get the general idea.

This little pine dresser, gleaned free from the side of the road, has held my clothes for many a year. Now it will do so with a bit more style.

Oh shoot...!

To celebrate Father's Day, Chris wanted to trek to Bangor so we could check out a newer indoor shooting range he has been wanting to try. After morning chores I cooked him up his favorite breakfast, sausage with biscuits and gravy. I only cook this once or twice a year, because it is not exactly healthy, but it is very tasty.

After we enjoyed that hearty treat,  Rachel, Chris and I piled into her car and headed to the range.  We brought along three pistols. One that Chris is partial to, a newer .38 revolver that Chris bought with me in mind, and my trusty, old Ruger .22 revolver.  I have not shot much for years, and not at all since I dislocated my shoulder two years ago. I was a little worried that I would be unable to balance the gun properly. 

Chris showed his normal excellent marksmanship and Rachel did very well with all three guns.

I tried the .38 and found I was accurate enough to be a credible threat with it if the need arose, but I wan't getting the tight grouping I'd like. The gun is loud and felt unfamiliar and strange to me. Then I loaded my good ol' Ruger and found that I have not lost my touch. With a little practice I think I could tighten up my game, but I was able to get in the circle with every shot. This was pleasing.

We spent the better part of an hour there, taking turns, trading guns, poking holes in the paper. It was fun, and good to know I could still handle my weapon of choice.  

A late lunch and a pretty drive home, just in time to do chores and enjoy a peaceful evening at the farmlette.  Oh, shoot, that was a nice day.  

And then there were six...

Five of this years crop of kids have gone off to nice, new homes. The herd of little, white, dancing goats is dwindling.  It has been a pleasure to watch them grow and bounce, explore and mature.  In two months they have gone from being the size of long-legged kittens to weighing 40 pounds or more, and they are all sleek and healthy. I love this picture of Spirit with one of her kids, resting in the shade for a mid-morning nap. They look so contented.

The flower gardens are coming along nicely this year. At least, where the naughty escapee rabbits leave things alone, they are.

The bird houses have had regular visits from blue birds, but no one has chosen to nest. We do have a nice family of tree swallows in one house, though. I am hoping a blue bird couple will choose to raise a brood here before the season is over.

Thelma and Louise, the piglets, have tripled in size during the month they have been here.  They drink up all the excess goat milk, with great gusto.  They've been very entertaining so far, wallowing in their mud hole, lounging in the shade, racing through the tall grass in their paddock and

rooting around in their hay-filled hut with deeply contented grunts.

Rachel and I have been quite active at work lately, with a wide variety of lovely and sweet dogs, cats, and their people, coming in.  This is the busy season for groomers, and we are grateful.

These cute ram lambs were born at Marion's farm in May, and will be coming to live here in July sometime.  I can hardly wait! 

Spring is unfolding at Fairwinds, with life growing and flowing all around us. It is all good.

There be dragons....

This post was delayed because my computer has been acting up. Chris worked on it for me and it's doing better. I thought some of you might be interested to know that dragons do exist. At least, they do in Maine.

One of the big crops harvested each year in Maine are low bush blueberries.  They grow wild here, often on vast, rocky spans called, "blueberry barrens."  These berry fields are lovely. In the spring they are the softest green, and when the berries are ripe the entire stretch will have a blue haze.  When autumn comes, the low shrubs turn crimson.

To ensure a good harvest, blueberry farmers burn the fields every two years. Native Americans were probably the first to practice this. Fire kills weeds, fungus and harmful insects, yet the hardy plants are able to spring back and produce fruit. Sometimes the fields are burned in the fall, sometimes in the spring.  This spring the distant areas around us have glowed with fire, and the air has had a smokey tinge.  We can hear a rumbling and roaring in the distance, and we know the dragons are at work.

Flames dance behind the trees that line the barrens.

Sooty tractors pull the apparatus that breathes fire. The earth vibrates, seeming to tremble before its advance.  Charred earth is left behind.

Behind the burn there will be renewal and growth. And sweet little berries will spring from the dragons breath.